


Symbolism

by angelsandbrowncoats



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love Confessions, M/M, Umbrellas, homelessness (mentioned), more silly prompt stuff instead of the longer things i'm supposed to be working on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 14:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11210295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsandbrowncoats/pseuds/angelsandbrowncoats
Summary: It's not about the umbrella. It's about what it means.Based on this tumblr prompt: “It’s raining and u forgot your umbrella so come over and stand under mine while we wait for the bus” au





	Symbolism

**Author's Note:**

> What am I doing? I don't know. I can't stop writing these two, so have some more random Nygmobblepot. I hope I kept them well enough in character.

Oswald Cobblepot never went anywhere without an umbrella. It didn't matter if the city hadn't seen a drop of rain in weeks, his umbrella would be at his side. The umbrella was sturdy enough to use as a cane whenever his leg gave him trouble, having never recovered from a beating he'd taken his freshman year. He could also use it as defense, if need be, as the rubber tip could be removed to reveal a sharp metal spike at the end.

Today, however, his umbrella served its traditional purpose: keeping its owner dry from the torrential downpour. He didn't mind the rain but his mother would worry if he caught a cold and she had enough troubles as it was. So he walked three blocks to the nearest bus stop, umbrella in hand, enjoying the pitter-patter sounds of water hitting fabric above his head.

When he reached the bus stop he stopped short at the sight of a boy a year or two younger than himself curled up and asleep on the bench inside the tiny glass box. The boy looked familiar and he realized he must be a fellow student, someone he'd seen in the halls a few times. Come to think of it, he did know the kid. They teamed up in gym, sometimes, being two of the least desirable partners in the class. Edward Nashton, if he recalled, a boy who couldn't throw a ball to save his life but who played a mean game of table tennis.

But why was he sleeping at the bus stop? Did he even ride the bus?

Oswald carefully closed his umbrella in order to step into the confined space, reaching down to gently shake Edward's shoulder.

For a moment, nothing happened, but then before Oswald knew it, Edward was awake and on his feet, brandishing a pocket knife in long wide sweeps. Oswald held up his hands and took a step back.

"Edward? Do you know who I am?"

Edward squinted, grip still firm on the knife, before he spoke in a crackly voice, "O - Oswald? Right?"

"Yes. We go to the same school. I'm not trying to hurt you or rob you or anything," he reassured before adding, "and you're holding that knife all wrong."

Edward flushed and quickly stuffed the knife into his pocket, "Sorry. Can't be too careful."

"Um... Not to be rude but... are you homeless?" Oswald was looking Edward up and down, his theory solidifying in the protective way Edward clutched his backpack and the three plus layers of clothes he was wearing. He gave Oswald the impression of someone who had nothing else in the world.

Edward scratched the back of his neck, looking anywhere but Oswald, "Er, sort of. Please don't tell the school! They're legally obligated to report me and I can't go back... He won't come looking for me but if child services finds out they'll send me back... I can't, please!"

Finally he made eye contact, trying to stress the importance of his pleas to Oswald.

"I... that wasn't my intention. At all. I suppose I was just... concerned."

Edward nodded, but his expression seemed doubtful. He looked about to speak again when a group of old ladies clutching their hats against the wind appeared and he scrambled to his feet.

"We should - ," he nodded at the curb. Oswald, having been raised by his very old-fashioned mother, had already had the same thought. They exited the safety of the glass, allowing the elderly women to occupy the space instead, and Oswald reopened his umbrella.

Edward stood a few paces away, fidgeting with his backpack as he curled around it, praying to a god he didn't believe in that his papers wouldn't be water-damaged. His hair was already plastered to his face and his glasses were spattered with rain. He looked downright miserable.

Oswald frowned. He wasn't what people tended to call _social_ , but Edward seemed like a nice enough guy from their few conversations and he was starting to feel bad for the kid. Taking a few steps towards him Oswald raised his umbrella slightly, "You can share with me if you like. There's plenty of room under here."

Edward's eyes snapped to him, not that Oswald could see through the deluge, and he tried and failed to stammer out a, "Thank you," before ducking down a little and joining Oswald beneath the dark canopy.

Eventually he felt calm enough to try again and he managed to get the whole sentence out, "Thank you for this, Oswald. It means a lot."

Oswald was a little taken aback, "It's just an umbrella - "

"No," Edward shook his head, looking directly at him, "It's not about the umbrella. It's about what it means."

"Oh?" now he was confused, "And what precisely does it mean?"

"It's kindness. You - There's nothing I can give you, you're not getting anything out of this. You're just... kind. It means a lot," he repeated.

Oswald stared at him. He'd never thought of himself as _kind_ before.

"I," Edward continued, shyness coloring both his voice and face, "You said I was holding my knife all wrong. Could I - Could you teach me? How to hold it properly? And, you know, use it? Properly."

"Uh," Oswald had never received an offer like this before. He'd never _taught_ anything, in fact. Clearing his throat he replied, "I suppose I could, but I'm not sure why you'd ask _me_."

"Because there's something about you. Something different. Something powerful," Edward breathed out the last word like he was savoring it, "And besides, you're nice to me."

Frowning, Oswald picked absently at the sleeve of his jacket, "If I do teach you, it won't be out of the goodness of my heart, no matter what impression I've given you. What's in it for me?"

"Loyalty. I've heard about you. I've seen you. I know you have big plans for this city, but I know you can't achieve them on your own. Teach me the skills I'll need to be useful, treat me with respect, and I will be loyal to you for life."

Now _that_ was a tempting offer. Oswald shifted his umbrella to his left hand in order to hold out his right one.

"You have yourself a deal, Mr. Nashton."

Edward shuddered, "Nygma."

"I'm sorry?"

"It's Mr. Nygma now. I mean, I can't officially change it yet, but I don't care."

Oswald rolled his eyes, "Edward Nygma? As in E. Nygma? Really?"

"I thought it was clever," Edward pouted.

"Clever in a terrible pun way," Oswald snorted, "Alright then, Mr. Nygma, deal?"

"Deal," Edward shook his hand, "And you can call me Ed. If you want, I mean."

"That's fine, Ed. I'm assuming you have no plans after school?"

Ed shook his head.

"Good. In that case, you can come home with me and we'll get started on your training immediately. My mother usually works until six so we'll have a couple hours before we need to worry about getting caught," a thought strikes him as he recalls Ed's reputation as a nerd, "and if you help me out on homework after dinner you might as well just stay."

"Your mother wouldn't be upset?"

"Upset? Her? Not a chance! If anything, a mild mannered young man like yourself will put her at ease since she seems convinced I'll end up being led astray by 'painted ladies'. As if!"

And that was it. No fireworks, no thunder, no dramatic music. The only two who were aware of the significance of this alliance where standing right there.

When mobsters fell to the power of the Penguin and the Riddler, years down the road, they cursed whatever forces allowed the two to unite, never knowing it could be something as simple as a little rain.

And when Penguin officially adopted the umbrella as his symbol, everyone assumed it was a reminder that he had worked his way up from nothing, from his position as an umbrella boy. But then again, they weren't privy to the quiet conversation that occurred later that night, for if they had been, they would have known better.

"Mr. Penguin?"

Oswald turned from where he was wiping the pricey lacquered wood of the bar, a task that he did for the novelty of it rather than the necessity. The bar had been used only one night, and he had employees to do the work. But he couldn't stop himself, wanting to feel the smooth surface beneath his fingers as if to prove its reality.

He smiled as he saw the eye-catching green suit and purple mask of his long-time friend.

"Ed, I was hoping to see you tonight. You missed the party," he grabbed one of his finest drinks, "Want a glass?"

"Perhaps a small one," Ed swung a leg over one of the bar-stools, "I was rather hoping I would catch you alone."

Oswald handed him a tiny glass of alcohol and a larger one of water, well aware of his friend's drinking habits as he poured himself a significantly greater amount of the former, "Oh? Any particular reason or just not feeling up to a crowd tonight?"

"Both, I suppose," Ed answered before drinking down the shot of liquor, "That is good."

"More?"

"No thanks."

They fell silent and Oswald felt compelled to sip at his drink to avoid fretting. Surely whatever Ed wanted to tell him couldn't be that bad or he wouldn't be sitting there calmly, right?

Ed took a deep breath after downing half his water, "Oswald... I was wondering... the umbrella..."

Oh. So that was what this was about. Oswald gulped down a bit more, trying to force back his blush. He needed to keep his composure. Play it cool.

This is what he wanted, after all, right? An opportunity to confess to Ed without putting a strain on their relationship?

"Umbrellas are an important symbol in my life," he begins, "They remind me of my mother and how she always dotes on me. And they remind me that even those at the very bottom can claw their way up to the top."

"Oh," Ed nodded, "Of course."

"And they remind me of how we met."

Ed looked up, "What?"

"Surely you remember?" Oswald asked, "It was raining the day we joined forces."

"Yes... it was..."

This was it. His chance.

"Ed, I want you to know... you've been immeasurably helpful to me these many years. I don't think I would be as stable as I am if I'd had to make it this far on my own. And not only that, but... _you're_ important to me. Even if we hadn't been successful, even before we were, I..."

He trailed off, insecurities snatching back the words he wanted so desperately to utter.

Ed was staring at him with rapt attention, eyes wide, "Yes?"

"Please don't run away."

"I won't," Ed shook his head, thoughts of what Oswald wanted to say running through his head. All the evidence pointed to the same thing but it couldn't be. It had to be Ed's imagination, projecting his own feelings onto -

"It's not about the umbrella. It's about what it means," he recited before pausing to collect himself one final time to leap off his metaphorical cliff.

"I care about you, Ed," Oswald's voice was soft, near silent, only audible due to the complete lack of other sounds in the empty club, "I think I may even love you. And I always have."

Ed's mind ground to a halt. He'd actually said it. He had, right? Ed hadn't just intensely imagined it, had he?

"Please say something," Oswald asked - no, _begged_ , reaching out with both hands to take Ed's where they laid motionless on the bar.

The touch was what snapped him out of it. That was real. Oswald was real. Ed grabbed his hands back, his grip tighter than Oswald's as he used them to ground himself, "I... me too."

It wasn't what he'd wanted to say. Not at all. He'd wanted to write poems, sing songs, ask riddles, anything and everything he could to show Oswald how much he cared. How his sentiments were more than just returned. But it was all he'd managed to get out.

But it was enough for Oswald. The Penguin let out a sigh of relief, reaching across the bar to run a finger along the edge of the Riddler's mask before slowly slipping it off him.

"So, you wouldn't object to a... different kind of partnership?"

It all came crashing over Ed in that moment. Oswald cared about him. Maybe even loved him. Oswald wanted Ed in his life. He felt an uncontainable smile stretching across his face as the perfect answer came to mind.

"What's in it for me?"

Oswald paused before Ed's game became clear and he gave a smirk of his own.

"Oh, I don't know. Dinners at expensive restaurants. Long walks on the beach," he pulled Ed in across the bar and brushed his lips across the other man's, "and that. Treat me with respect and I will be loyal to you for life."

"You have yourself a deal, Mr. Penguin."


End file.
